


game over

by mcswoonfor_mcdoon



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Fluff, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, i guess, soft
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-07
Updated: 2020-07-07
Packaged: 2021-03-05 00:41:32
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 764
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25125628
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mcswoonfor_mcdoon/pseuds/mcswoonfor_mcdoon
Summary: Nekoma lost their latest practice game; Kuroo takes it harder than expected and Kenma doesn’t understand why.
Relationships: Kozume Kenma/Kuroo Tetsurou
Comments: 4
Kudos: 83





	game over

**Author's Note:**

> I wrote this for my boyfriend then thought “hey, this could be content.” 
> 
> so I’m posting it lmao.
> 
> this could also be read as queer platonic kuroken; but i had a romantic relationship in mind when I wrote it. anyways, I hope y’all enjoy

“Thank you for the game!” 

They lost.

Kenma was tired, and his head and eyes had been hurting since this morning because of how late he’d stayed up the night before trying to move onto the next level of MonHun. His legs were sore and his fingers cracked when he curled his hands into fists and it was all for naught because they still didn’t win. There was no reward. 

_ It was just a practice game,  _ he tells himself.  _ It doesn’t matter in the end.  _

His Nekoma jacket sticks to the sweat on his arms when he pulls it on, causing a sticky prickling sensation that makes him grimace. He quickly grabs his volleyball bag and bee-lines towards the bleachers to wait for Kuroo to finish changing. He takes out his psp as he sits down, drowning out the sound of the home team cleaning their gym with his own inner monologue and strategies. 

Kuroo takes longer to change than normal, and Kenma doesn’t like that at all. He doesn’t like how Kuroo’s smile doesn’t reach his eyes nor how his hands shake even though it isn’t that cold out. But he doesn’t mention it. He files this information away for later, for when their teammates aren’t around, for when they’re alone and can talk without the expectations that are forced onto their shoulders. 

No other member seems to be concerned about their loss, because there is no reason to be. Lev, maybe, is a bit upset by the turn of events, but that’s just because he always wants, wants,  _ wants _ and doesn’t know how to feel when he doesn’t get it. The bus ride back to Nekoma isn’t quiet, it’s quite the opposite, yet the weight of Kuroo’s silence is unbearable. It deafens Kenma. 

“Walk me home?” Kenma asks Kuroo when the team makes it back to the school, even though that’s not even a question at this point. Not with them. It never has been a question. Kuroo nods and that’s that. They walk in silence to the train station, sit in silence on the train, and Kenma feels like he’s about to burst. His stomach is swimming and he feels itchy under his skin; his chest hurts and Kenma wonders if this is dangerous for him. Can he die from worry? 

They pause outside of Kenma’s gate. He exits out of his game, the low background music turning off completely at the action and leaving only the sound of singing crickets and their own bated breath. “Spend the night,” Kenma suggests, and suddenly they’re in Kenma’s room, the only light coming from his TV which is playing a video game intro quietly on repeat. They’re laying on Kenma’s bed and Kuroo doesn’t stop shaking, no matter how many blankets Kenma subtly drops over him. “What’s wrong with you?” Kenma asks quietly, because he’s tired of waiting, of the suspense, of not knowing. He wants to know everything that goes on in Kuroo’s brain, and normally he does; or he knows enough, at least. And now he doesn’t have that and he hates it. 

“I don’t know,” Kuroo says quietly. 

“Don’t lie to me.” He convinces himself that it doesn’t hurt when Kuroo lies.  _ It doesn’t.  _

Kuroo takes a breath. “I’m scared.” He looks at Kenma, the light of the TV making him glow. “We lost.” 

“It was just a practice game,” Kenma says automatically, because that’s what he’s been repeating in his head like a mantra since it happened. 

“But next time it won’t be. Won’t be ‘just a practice.’ It will be real and I am scared because when we lose, it will prove—“ he cuts off abruptly. Kenma sits up on his elbow, turning to look at Kuroo. 

“Prove what?” he asks softly. Kuroo pauses. 

“That I’m not good enough.” 

Kenma wants to cry. Because Kuroo is the best. He is so good, better than Kenma could ever dream to be, and still he thinks he doesn’t deserve what he has. 

“You’re perfect.” 

Kuroo laughs. “I don’t think everyone thinks like that, Kenma.” 

Kenma leans closer. He brings a hand up to cup Kuroo’s cheek, rubbing his thumb on the warm skin he finds there. Kenma wishes that Kuroo could see, for once, how wrong he is. “You’re perfect,” he says again, pushing all the sincerity he can manage into his voice. 

Kuroo smiles, and it’s wobbly and crooked and there are tears in his eyes as he pulls Kenma against his chest. 

“Thank you,” Kenma hears as his eyes start to close. 

Kuroo stops shaking, and Kenma smiles. 

  
  
  


**Author's Note:**

> thank you for reading!


End file.
